


As the Seasons change

by catcusxx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (yay), Character Analysis, Character Comparision (Derek and Peter), Don't quote me on that, Extended Metaphors, F/M, Gore, He had to start somewhere, How Peter got his blue eyes, I mean, Metaphors, Mild Gore, Murder, Original Character Death(s), POV Third Person, Poetic, Sexual Content, Shut your eyes children, Smut, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 18:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catcusxx/pseuds/catcusxx
Summary: Red is the colour of her hair as she leans in the kiss you. Red is the colour of her blood as you rip her heart from her chest.And no. That wasn't a metaphor.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter Hale did not love easily. Most people thought he was a psychopath, but they were born, not made. Before Peter was a killer, he was a child. His sister saw the signs then - in the way he believed the world should be his. Maybe his appetite for death could have been curbed. Maybe he came close to being good. Then he'd fallen in love and lost everything.  
She was a hunter - an Argent. That was always the case. The two families were close, after all - for all the wrong reasons. It was a satirical kind of Romeo and Juliet setup, but Peter would never die for love.  
Aria was the daughter of Gerard, but Peter hadn't known that then. If he had he would have stayed away, no matter how pretty those eyes were. She was the eldest sibling. A year younger than him.   
He had been struggling with the full moon that month. The month he realised he might just be in love with her. That he might have been since he first set eyes on her as she stalled outside the school one crisp Autumn.   
She was waiting at their usual place, sitting on the bed, her hair down. He pulled her close and she touched her lips to his. It was a soft kiss. A brief kiss, and his neck arched upwards to follow her mouth as she pulled away. He knew she liked his need for her. The way the chaste peck wasn't enough. He knew that it showed her how he felt for her, even when he would never put it in words.  
And his vision would be tinted red, but it wasn't the saturated glow of his wolf vision. Even though her hands looped around him and her fingers twisted in his shirt and her moans filled him with animalistic passion, the red was her hair, coiling itself around his fingertips and cascading down his chest.   
Her scent filled his nostrils and wafted around him in endless, intoxicating spirals. Her perfume was synthetic and sharp. He'd hated it at first but it had become her as it mingled with her own, subtle, earthy musk. She always seemed to have the briskness of that first Autumn day caressing the edges of her figure, as if she walked amongst the clouds, skimming her fingers through the crystalline droplets of water and letting the high winds tumble her hair.  
And her pulse throbbed in his ear drums. Rhythmic, fast, exciting. He could make it speed up just by being there. Just by running his tongue along her lower lip or brushing her hear back. The way her heart beat when she touched him in the smallest of ways pulled his own heart along with it and they together they ran. Together they danced to the ever increasing tempo as they flew higher, to a place where none of the world could touch them.  
Eventually she didn't pull him along, as if he were reluctant or unwilling. Eventually the sight of her, the scent of her, her presence, penetrating the air around them, made his pulse race. She would go about her day oblivious to the rhythm of his heart as he watched her and waited for her.  
And her touch, his touch, had been superficial at first. The bed they shared was the bed he'd shared with many others. He'd known what he wanted and she'd known he wanted it.   
Now her fingers left trails of fire as they danced along the contours of his body. The whisper of her breath on his chest made him vibrate. Shaking as the heat consumed him.   
He could see the glimmer of her eyes in the dim light, burning into him more than even her touch on his hypersensitive skin. Burned into him because in that moment they both knew that this wasn't just a joining of bodies. Maybe this was irreversible, but Peter was already in too deep.   
But for her, his bed had been empty for months.  
So he forced those feelings aside. Imagined his heart beat wasn't in sync with hers and they hadn't flown so high for so long. Because they'd have to fall.   
He focused on her silky skin as he trailed his own over the fluttering pulse in her neck. He focused on her touch as the palm of her hand trailed down, down, down...   
And now the red was lust. The red was her lips and the prints her lipstick left. On his face, his neck, his chest. Lower.   
The red was her blood as his hips jerked upwards and his claws emerged, digging into the smooth expanse of skin on her back. The red trickled down her sides, dripping off the peaks of her breasts. It overflowed. Her lipstick, worn and smudged, made her mouth a gash of surprise, of horror.   
She furled upwards, her thighs clenching around his as she reached behind herself. Her fingers trailed along the skin of his arm, soft even at the awkward angle. She was so close still. They were still so intimate.   
And yet suddenly they were back in Autumn and he viewed her from a storey up through thick safety glass. The feeling in his chest, their heartbeats out of sync, it was unbearable. To be so far away. So he unhooked his claws from her and tried not to shake as he watch the blood continue to flow. He could feel the moonlight, bleaching her skin so it shone silver. Bleaching the human out of him.   
He'd never feared blood before. Now he was terrified.   
Then she leaned closer, through the safety glass. Through time. Again it was the two of them on an abandoned bed in an abandoned warehouse. The only sounds were their rough breathing and their heartbeats, galloping, dashing, flying, as they began to ascend again.   
His mouth had fallen open as she rocked back. He knew she stared at his fangs.   
And he tried to force them back in. He tried to become human, but he was so out of control - because the moon was full. Because the red was lust and it mingled with her. Her hair, her scent, and the wolf in him wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything.   
She leaned forwards and kissed him. She didn't pull away and leave him wanting. She ran her tongue over his fangs and bucked against him and didn't flinch as he brought his hands back up to encircle her waist. His fingers interlocked - but he didn't spill his own blood.  
When she broke away there were two trickles of blood where his fangs had punctured, one on each side of her lower lip. He felt fear. He felt joy - when she smiled and thumbed the red lipstick from his mouth.   
He brought his tongue to her body and traced the rivulets of her blood.   
Bloodlust had consumed him before. More than once. Never had the sharp tang of blood tasted of life. Reminded him of love.   
And when his claws receded it was when she lay beside him. It was so he could take her hand and lace his fingers through hers. His fangs became regular incisors so he could kiss her softly. So the kiss could last and the soft pleasure didn't burn but warmed them all the same.   
And with her hand intertwined in his, and their bodies tangled, and her hair forming a halo around them, a halo of soft, loving red, Peter knew that he loved her. Not the red. Not the arch of her body against his. Not any singular part of her. He loved her in her entirety.   
He wanted to lie with her, like this, forever.  
And then Geared found them. He found them as quickly and surely as if he could scent Peter on her clothes. He would have left Peter alone, he said, but Peter had touched something that did not belong to him. He'd touched Aria Argent, and he'd touched her heart.   
He would never do so again or those he loved would burn.   
Peter wanted to tell him he couldn't light his own daughter on fire. He couldn't speak through the blood in his mouth.   
He would kill Geared. He would kill for her. He would kill because murder was better than loosing her. She was a hunter but he was young. He believed that they were still flying too high for the world to touch them.  
The red was the wine, waiting in the kitchen to be poured. Only Gerard drank red wine. The colour fit. It was dark and deep. When it stained, it stained forever. Permanent. Irreversible.   
And that night at home, he waited for the poison to take Gerard, because surely he'd know when it had. He splashed his face with water and watched it drip off his eyelashes. He didn't flinch as some of it hit his iris. He just wanted the cold to permeate his skin. His burning skin. He could have sworn his eyes flashed blue.  
So he ran. He ran to her house. His chest constricted with panic. With fear. He wasn't fast enough. He wasn't flying. He drew on his strength as a wolf. He drew on the strength of his pack.   
And the red was fear. The desperate kind. The red was the stop sign as he crested the rise towards her house. Warning him to slow down. Telling him to speed up. A futile red. Dull.   
She had dragged herself outside, muffling the deep, hacking cough which tore from her throat. Tore her air from her and produced blood. No medicine would save her now. He'd made sure of that when he'd poisoned Gerard, he'd sworn it'd been Gerard.   
She burned in his arms, her skin hot with fever. The burning overtook him. The burning of guilt.   
Each of her breaths ripped through her body. Her chest heaved. Her eyes were unfocused.   
That night he begged his sister to give Aria the bite. To save her. His hands made fists in the dying girls shirt and he shook as he yelled. As he bargained. As he begged.  
Her eyes flashed brightly. Red as they bore into his. Red as she shook her head and left him to cradle the girl he loved.   
It was his punishment, after all. The ultimate punishment.  
He itched to follow Talia. To sink his teeth into her neck. To tear her throat out.   
And then he felt the weak grasp of Aria's hand as she tugged at his shirt. Her green eyes bore into his in place of her sisters. They'd never been as bright and vibrant as her hair yet now they forced his attention. They had the same accusing shine. He could feel her time trickling away. Feel her impending death in his bones.   
"Why?" She asked. Her voice was oversaturated with emotion. The kind which shot daggers into his chest.  
"I had to. I had to kill Geared." He would have spoken with conviction, yet he felt nothing. Nothing after the numbing pain of her cracking and crumbling voice.  
As his heart raced with fear, with panic, hers stuttered and slowed. They lost their rhythm, the one his heart had beat to for what felt like eons. They had fallen, and yet she was the one lying broken and bleeding on the ground.   
"I know." She said. "I..."  
"Why?" He demanded franticly.   
"Why?" he whispered quietly. His voice cracked from the pain.   
Shook from anguish.   
"You would... Kill for me... You would never..." She coughed. More blood. "You would never die... For me."  
Her voice overflowed with sadness and fear and pain. Gut-wrenching, heart-stopping pain which resonated deep inside his chest.   
He thought he felt their heart beat to the same rhythm one last time, keening a universally known song.  
And then he was alone.   
It was only when the light faded from her eyes he realised where the faint scent of Autumn lingered. Even though her perfume was tainted with the scent of blood-red wine and her body was soaked in the smell of the glistening, sombre blood from deep inside, the scent of that first meeting was there.   
Before he'd loved her.   
The pain had stopped for her. God he hoped it had.   
For him the pain was infinite. A new kind of burning. He felt his claws puncture the palms of his hands. A howl was torn from his throat as he was cleaved in two by unstoppable force of his grief.   
His sister didn't come. She never would come.  
The tears burned too. For the first time he let them. He let them scorch tracks into his skin like Aria's blood had in hers the night he realised he loved her. The night it became too late to say so.  
The moisture dripped off his chin and dampened his shirt. A single droplet alighted on her cheek and trailed down her face.   
He howled again and dug his claws into her chest. He wanted the blood to run. He needed the blood to run.   
Her heart remained still. Cold and silent.   
Deeper. He forced his fingers through her rib cage. Heard the bones cracking as he felt the soft flesh of her heart. He ripped into her as the pain ripped into him.  
He withdrew his hands, her heart caged in his fingers. He watched the blood dribble from the severed arteries and stain her shirt red. Like red wine, the blood would never wash from his hands.   
For a precious moment their hearts synced again - because his heart was as dead and cold as the one of the girl he'd loved.   
-  
That night the passion seeped out of red. Red became the colour of death. The deep red of fresh blood. The rust of it as it dried on his skin and cracked when he finally set the corpse down.   
He would never see her blood again. Death would come most of all in the unnatural glowing shade of his sisters eyes.  
An alpha, after all, controlled death.  
Peter wanted that power. He needed it. A power which should have always been his.


	2. Chapter 2

Talia never wanted to meet someone else like her brother. Peter Hale scared her. Peter Hale was a murderer and it was her fault.  
Derek was like the other kids, but there was a shadow in his eyes. Sometimes, when he shifted, she expected them to glow blue rather than yellow. He was arrogant and proud after all.  
And then he met a girl, and although Talia still saw that arrogance she could see his feelings for her underneath.  
The girl, Paige, could only see that arrogance at first. He played her from the moment they first met. She hated and admired him in parts ever since the single, clear note, of the triangle rang throughout the music room.  
God he was infuriating.  
Derek knew she didn't like him, as many people didn't. He also knew that the glimpses of her he got throughout the long school days sent his heart racing as he longed to reach out to her.  
He discovered that she wasn't just the shy, flickering smiles that occasionally graced her face, or the stony glares she shot in his direction when he spoke out of turn.  
Oh, he'd admired her delicate features and te way her hair fell over her face and how her fingers tapped out quiet rhythms on the underside of her desk. To anyone else the tapping would be lost in the noise of the classroom. To him they were loud. Distracting.  
But her music - the way she drew melody out of the cello, the way she leaned into her music - the same notes which she delicately drew from the cello reverberated through him.  
At first he hadn't been allowed to watch her play. That hadn't stopped him from tuning in from across the school. He could ignore the sounds of the world, too sharp for his enhanced senses, and just listen. He imagined her playing. Sometimes he would lean on the door of the music room. Softly so she wouldn't hear anything. He would place a hand against the wood and feel the vibration of the strings.  
One day she caught him. He'd been so absorbed in the music that he hadn't heard her footsteps approaching and when the door swung open he'd stumbled inside and been stopped by her hand firmly on his shoulder.  
Her music was shaky at first, with him in the room. He sat quietly, content to listen to her play. Content to watch her lean into the melody as slowly it absorbed her. He grew bolder, sitting where she could see him and listening. To the song. To her heartbeat. The metronome became a thrumming beat which he heard all through his life as it permeated him.  
The music room grew familiar. Once, they used the instruments in physics. He couldn't concentrate that lesson. All he could think about was Paige. Her scent clung to the corners of the room and he could seek it out even under the sweat and perfume of everyone else. Her fingerprints would be spattered across the neck of the cello, a school one because she couldn't afford her own.  
Eventually, when each of her notes were smooth and rippled into the air like honey, he placed a hand on her shoulder and watched as she danced across the strings.  
She fell out of time with the metronome when he kissed her for the first time. He forgot how to function when she kissed him back. It all became irrelevant, drowned out by the pounding in his ears.  
Sometimes she kept playing as he peppered kisses along her neck. Sometimes she held his hands as she taught him how to play.  
His attempts grated horribly against his ears, and eventually he had to stop and admit that she was the only one who could make music for him.  
With her, his world was in harmony and she was his harmony. The pools of sunlight in her eyes, like the dappled light spilling over from the canopy in the woods. The way her hair flowed down her back - a river of silky strands. The blue of the necklace she always wore - her grandmothers - captivated him, because it was the same blue as wolfsbane. The deadly herb had never been so alluring. Even as he fought against the full moons pull, he could see her. The silky skin in the hollow of her neck became the vast, silvery moon.  
It was the only thing he felt comfort in, when inevitably, he began to shift. Control was a fight every month. Control was a fight when her tentative hands trailed under his shirt and her peach-scented lips nibbled at his neck.  
Her eyes would flick downwards shyly and he'd feel his claws emerge as those hands played the plains of his chest. He dug them into his palms because his blood would always be better than hers.  
Sometimes it was the pain which kept him human. Others it was the subtle, musical, timbre of her voice.  
He preferred her voice. A voice he could listen to forever.  
And then the fear set in, because forever never lasted. Even when their time together seemed infinite, felt infinite, he could feel the clock ticking as clearly as he could hear the metronome. He'd come so close to shifting around her, and he couldn't let her see a monster.  
Peter's voice wormed its way inside his head. The bite would fix everything. The bite would save her.  
And when she was bitten, when he made someone bite her, everything tumbled down.  
Her music became discordant and painful to listen to. This was the crescendo of her life. The adrenaline running through her system before the harsh, jarring notes inevitably faded. He'd always thought that it would come later. The point in her life when everything became loud.  
He'd always thought it would be beautiful, and death wouldn't follow.  
Both would have stayed with him infinitely, but now it would be the song of her death he carried with him forever.  
And he took her pain, but even as it flowed into his skin, excruciating, burning, sinking deep, he knew it was his own guilt that made things seem so utterly hopeless.  
He realised that amidst her desperate, rasping, breathing, she was trying the speak.  
"Derek, you... You are a good person." She said, desperately, as if she needed him to believe her words. Believe the lie.  
"I would... It should be... me." He said, leaning his forehead on hers. Her voice had lost it's music, he realised then. His hands pressed against her wound. Her blood seeped through his fingers. Her life flowed away from him; from her.  
"I know you would. I know... But you have to live-" She winced and a shudder ran through her body. Her hands fisted in his shirt. Tangling so tightly in the fabric, as if by holding on to him she would hold onto life.  
But she was slipping away and he could do nothing.  
"Live for me." She murmured.  
And he knew it was ending, but her pain became too much. She convulsed as she tried to bear it, and he couldn't let her. His body still tried to take her pain as he slid his claws into her chest. There was so little resistance. And though he knew her mind and spirit were strong, she was still so delicate. He felt the pain he added to her as his claws sunk deeper.  
He knew the moment she died, because her pain stopped, and everything was silent.  
His whole world became monotoned.  
And it was he who'd done this. The alpha had been his means, but he was the murderer.  
-  
There were others, but they weren't like Paige. He thought he'd stopped hearing her, even in the even beat of the metronome which he'd taken from the music room and placed beside his bed. It had all faded so much.  
And when he had his own pack, and the banshee came, he saw Paige again. Because he saw the wolfsbane as it clouded the air around him and dusted his face and collarbones. It was the same shade of as the necklace she'd worn. The one he'd clutched so tightly the pattern seemed embedded in his skin after she died. Before that it was beautiful.  
-  
He'd been afraid when his eye's turned yellow. It should have felt liberating, as if he'd finally paid off his debt. Instead he knew he was loosing something.  
-  
When Derek and Peter finally stood face to face, each understood the other.  
One had been mislead and coerced into killing. One was desperate and scared.  
But Derek would always blame himself, because the claws that sunk into her chest were his own. The red eyes of his alpha form would always be blue underneath. It had been a long time since her death, but even longer since he'd had something to live for.  
Peter had forced his anger and blame on the hunters. He would forever push away the image of her blood on his hands. Push it so far that eventually, it would became a fact. He was not the killer.  
And he'd gone so far to avoid the guilt. To avoid death. He never wanted to see that face again, because he knew what it would do to him.  
While Peter readied himself to kill again, Derek readied himself to save lives.  
Thalia would cry for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done!  
> I haven't really written in this style before so someone help me!!  
> Also, I haven't used extended metaphors in a long-ass time so in the first part I may? have overused them.. whoops.  
> This was also one of the most random bouts of inspiration I've had in aaages. Like, did I sit down intending to write? Nope. Did I intend to go to bed before one in the morning? Definitely not. Did I completely ignore my common sense in order to write a (possibly crappy) fanfic? Absolutely!  
> I'm not creative often tho, so I figured I better run with it  
> Also first time writing a ship that was in cannon, or even between two cannon characters. Usually I add OC's bc they're so fun!  
> But I really wanna write Sterek... and Stydia... And LydiaxParish  
> Too many of my ships include Styles or Lydia.  
> I'm almost done watchihng S6 and tbh I want one thing that probably isn't gonna happen; PETER AND DEUCALION  
> THE SASS!! THE DRAMA!! I NEED THIS  
> (And I mean, platonic is fine but can we just think of the ship name; like Deucaliater (Ignore the random a) Is so dramatic,, It's perfect skglbkjg)  
> No one reads these rants, I could put my plans for world domination in here, but if you stuck with me, thanks for reading!!  
> xx


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